Angelus News | February 9, 2024 | Vol. 9 No

But that elbow room came at a cost.
This is land that once belonged to
Native Americans, until they found
that Spain came to them. Then it was
taken from the Mexicans, who found
that America came to them. LA finally
came for the farmers, forced out so
the city fathers could build swaths of
ranch houses, In-N-Outs, and a secretly
better airport.
I eat the fruits (and burgers) of such
evil labors, while perpetuating them
for the next generation. Chinatown
remains relevant because LA’s original
sin is hardly original at all. Locals are
still forced out for their land, this time
for clout rather than water. We watch
helplessly as the fashionable neighborhoods
creep east, like a swarm of
locusts hungry for cheap rent and
leaving behind nothing but stalks and
Erewhon grocery stores. Even San
Bernardino has begun constructing
fortifications for the encroaching
hipster caravan.
Though hard to remember during an
El Niño winter, I moved down here
in a drought (a real drought, with all
respect to “Chinatown”). LA already
takes most of its water from the
Colorado River. When the river ran
low on water to borrow, city officials
gingerly requested we cut back on our
shower times. We, of course, refused
with a patriot’s dignity and were bailed
out with these last few years of storms.
But ask any football team, even the
Chargers, if Fullerton won’t return
your calls: punting isn’t a solution.
A final lesson from “Chinatown” is
that geography molds a people. I am
from the Pacific Northwest, a land of
beautiful people at icy remove. We
take our cue from Mt. Rainier, who
looms over us like an emotionally
distant mother. My time in LA has
made me a bit sunnier in disposition,
if no less beautiful.
The characters in “Chinatown” are
irrevocably “LA.” The heroes are a
desperate sort, unbearably present
in the moment because they know
there’s no backup plan. When you’re
at the terminus of the rail line, you
fight back because your back is to the
ocean and you can’t drink a drop.
The villains are modern conquistadors,
forging kingdoms out of the raw
material of the desert. Their evil is
strong enough to mold the geography,
the land withering even further like
an Oedipal blight.
A modern landscape image of
Los Angeles. | SHUTTERSTOCK
If there is an agreement between
the two, it’s that LA should not exist.
Its continued survival is either an act
of ingenuity, hubris, or malice, often
all at the same time. For the evil that
existentialism is a license to remake
the world in their image. For an unlucky
few that is a call to purpose, to
bring justice to a land without much
interest.
On the 405 the other day, just cresting
the hills, I saw the graffiti “WE
ARE ALL ALONE” spray-painted on
the side of a cliff. It couldn’t help but
remind me of a line from Nicholson’s
character, who when asked if he was
alone, quips, “Aren’t we all?”
The curse and blessing of Los Angeles
is that it just isn’t true. We’re all
stuck here together in a land beyond
time, loving and killing and sinking
deeper as we fight for footing in the
muck. Fitting for a city with a tar pit
at its heart.
Joseph Joyce is a screenwriter and freelance
critic based in Sherman Oaks.
February 9, 2024 • ANGELUS • 29